The People of Dewbrook

Chapter Six

"Oliver Burns, sir," he spoke after making direct eye contact with her father, gladly shaking his hand with him, the sound of his voice allowing her to confirm all her positive assumptions about him. "I came here because of your daughter."

Elliott smiled brightly at him. "We would not have allowed anyone but you to come here today, but thank you for confirming your identity anyway, young man. We shall now sit in the dining room and, you know, converse some. Would you like tea, coffee, or any other kind of beverage?"

"Nothing more than water, sir," Oliver responded nonchalantly, causing Elliott's eyes to widen.

"Dahlia!" the old man shouted after a few seconds of silence, instantly drawing the maid's attention. "Would you be so kind as to brew us all a cup of chamomile tea at your best pace, please? It would be much appreciated, thank you."

After Dahlia's usual meek, quiet, affirmative answer, they all sat at the table, which was currently empty excluding the large white tablecloth. It took some time for the conversation to start, but when it did, it was rather lively. Rosemary was the one who started it by asking the following question:

"So, Oliver, what are your interests?"

Oliver placed two fingers on his chin. "That is an intriguing question, my dear. Engaging with other people is not exactly my preferred activity, but do not think that I am one of those austere types who get exhausted after each conversation. It is merely that I prefer to ponder and reflect upon my experiences as opposed to going to social events and getting drunk. My favourite pastime is fishing, which is usually something that old men are wont to do, which means that some would consider this behaviour of mine strange, but to me, it makes perfect sense. Fishing is about spending your days in nature, among the clouds and the trees and the tranquil stream of the nearby river, standing patiently, waiting for the scarce amount of fish there are to arrive, thinking in the meantime for hours on end, going through a great struggle and strengthening your body and mind, and telling yourself to never give up, no matter what happens. After all, it will be worth it, for the taste of a fish and the solemn activity of searching for some is irreplaceable."

Elliott raised an eyebrow. "Well, that is interesting, to say the least, young man. I think I have made the perfect choice, for my daughter is also one of those silent types who like to reflect and all those other things. She is obsessed with books and poems and trying to write them. I do not know who she inherited it from. There has never been an artistic person in our family before. We all did the regular things wealthy people do, like playing golf and cards and hunting and attending social events. I would be more than willing to know what you think about that."

Oliver formed a broad smile. "From what I know about you, you seem quite like the person who would support your daughter no matter what she chooses, and I must say that I am very proud of her, and I want you to keep being proud of her too. She must have already had a tough time with the numerous men who do not consider women intelligent enough to write, and I am glad to hear that she at least has familial support. Speaking of which, where is her brother?"

Elliott shrugged. "He went to visit an old friend, and he was supposed to return last night, but then they told me he got stuck in a snowstorm. However, he should return by tomorrow, so do not fret."

Oliver nodded. "That is understandable. I do not think much of the things you listed, but I engage in them sometimes. If she is willing to respond, I want to ask her what her experience with writing has been like so far."

Rosemary smiled widely. "I have been writing ever since I was a child, and it has been very good for me. I have explored many things I never would have otherwise, and I consider my writing ability to be quite impressive. The number of men who thought of me as some dull-minded creature was not large, and it is more due to the mistakes in my writing I have yet to correct than due to the injustice in the world that no one has published my works yet. My biggest mistake is the tendency to bore the reader to death thanks to a lack of emotional involvement, and I hope to one day find a topic, a way that could really pique their interest."

"I am certain that your writing is nothing short of marvellous," he said softly.

She laughed sweetly. "Now you are flattering me, Oliver."

"Have you heard about the recent arrival of Stephen Rochester?" the father said out of nowhere, and for a while, they talked about that man again, mostly about how all they had fear and pity for how his fate could turn out because he had never stopped gambling, and Caroline talked for a significant amount of the time, which made the conversation much longer, especially with the countless questions Oliver had asked about her, and when the clock ticked two in the afternoon, four minutes appeared to have passed instead of the four hours that have passed in actuality.

Oliver glanced at his watch. "It is time for me to leave. Knowing you all has been nice, even you, Madam Proust, but there is a house I have to take care of and other people I have to meet with, so I bid you farewell, and I cannot wait for us to meet the following time."

After everyone greeted everyone, Rosemary sat at the table for several minutes, staring at the distance, thinking about the future. She was well aware of the fact that she had to halt being as dramatic as she was, seeing that her future with this man would not be painful, feeling ashamed for even doubting her father's choices. Perhaps he could even help her get published with his resources somehow, and they could live happily as many others did, but in her heart, a thorn was still stuck. Freedom and happiness with someone she did not choose seemed nothing but false to her, and with that mindset, she wondered how she would ever make herself agreeable to him in the years to come.